


Ampersand

by Astro_Boi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky's time during HYDRA, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Gen, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Memories, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Recovered Memories, Steve Rogers Feels, Stucky - Freeform, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, can be read as romantic or platonic, stucky friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 01:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16608884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astro_Boi/pseuds/Astro_Boi
Summary: “Affirmative. One shot through the window, inaccurate. One shot through the forehead.”“Inaccurate? You missed?!”“Affirmative.”“You never miss.”“One shot through the window, inaccurate.”“...Why?”“The Boy.”The handler sits forward and looks at the asset, hard. He is no longer taking notes, his pen sits still in his hand as he observes the asset. “What boy?”“He spoke to me. Bucky. I knew him.”“You know no one. Only HYDRA. You are shaping the future. You are the Fist of HYDRA.”“...”The asset stares at the handler. It looks at the man. His sweaty palms and stinking breath. He smells of cheap cigarettes and piss. The asset hates him.The asset doesn’t feel anything.“But I knew him.”





	Ampersand

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is the longer story that I talked about in the story I posted last week. This is the longest thing I've every written as a one-shot so I hope you like it and I want to give credit and thanks to both Sebastillestan and Thedocterknows on tumblr, this story was inspired by their post in which they discussed whether or not Bucky as the Winter Soldier would still look down alleyways to check for Steve, so once again thanks to them! hope you enjoy the fic!!

A thing cannot want. 

They do not have desires. They don't eat, or sleep, or rest. They don’t want.

The asset stalks across broken glass, crunching beneath its boot, grinding into the soft grass and dirt. Its gun held in the skin hand and a knife concealed in the fist of the metal one. The metal of both the arm and the knife glint in the sunlight, reflection leaping off it. As the asset approaches its target, it hears noises coming from the alleyway across the street; its head turns toward the sound, squinting to see behind its goggles, as if possessed, the asset begins to walk toward the sounds.

As he approaches, the asset looks around the alleyway, it is unsure what exactly it is looking for; it catches a glimpse of golden hair from the corner of its eye, but as it turns to look eyes wide, the colour disappears. It shakes its head in confusion, not understanding what’s just happened, system failure, an error. It turns as it comes around the corner, and a skinny dirty cat jumps from one of the bins, rattling the metal and knocking it over, dumping its contents onto the ground. Focus regained the asset returns to its mission. In the moments it has been distracted in the alleyway, the target has miserably tried to crawl away, wounds leaving a trail of blood smeared onto the ground. The asset follows and lets its target see its return. Grabbing the target by the ankle, it drags their battered body back into the very alleyway the asset had been distracted by. The asset observes their desperation and shivers minutely, a system failure. The asset raises its weapon and fires.

_He saunters through the streets, new dress uniform starched and crisp and tight across his body, his hat tipped, cocked to one side,_  
_an easy smirk drawn across his lips. His shiny new shoes click_  
_against the sidewalk. The air is heavy with heat and tension._  
_As he walks past an alleyway, he hears scuffling and a muffled, “hey!”_  
_the sound of skin hitting skin, fists hitting a body, a body hitting the pavement._  
_He turns down the alley, apprehensive already filling his stomach._  
_He’s not let down by his instincts as he sees the form_  
_of Steve, his best friend, laid out on the ground, blood dripping_  
_from his crooked nose, bracing himself on his bird bone wrists._  
_Bucky watches as Steve turns his head, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the_  
_pavement, matching what’s already dripping from his nose. He pushes_  
_himself up onto his knees and elbows, and slowly stands up, raising_  
_his bruised fists, his breathing heavy as he states, “I could_  
_do this all day.” As the thug raises his own fists, Bucky steps in._  
_He grabs the raised hand and twists it up hard behind the guy’s back._  
_The guy tugs against Bucky’s hold and swears when he realizes he can’t move._  
_“Best get outta here, pal,” Bucky says to the guy, releasing his hold on him; the guy_  
_turns and glares at Bucky wiping his nose as he walks away, tugging his rumpled_  
_clothing back into place, and spits as he walks past Bucky’s feet. As Bucky turns to_  
_look at Steve, he braces himself for the tirade to come. “I had_  
_‘em on the ropes, Buck.” Bucky smiles, brushing off Steve’s response and slinging_  
_an arm around Steve’s shoulders pulling his smaller form_  
_against him, resting his chin on the top of Steve’s head._  
_“I know ya did, punk, just thought you’d appreciate the hand.”  
_ _He hears Steve huff but can see him smiling from the corner  
_ _of his eye. “Thanks, Buck.” His golden hair glows in the warm sunlight._

The asset watches the passing crowd from its sniper’s roost. It has been here for three days, not moving, still, waiting for the opportune moment to take out its target. It has watched the people in this area the last few days, families and couples, passing by and living their lives. The asset has no life. The asset’s only purpose is the will of HYDRA. The target appears in the windows of his apartment, his receding hairline and large stomach appearing in the asset’s scope. The asset readies its gun and its finger tightens on the trigger.

_“...bucky…”_

The asset misses.

The glass explodes and the target flinches, a scream erupting from his mouth, dropping the phone he had been talking into. 

“Дерьмо.”

As the man inside the apartment begins to panic, running back and forth like a chicken with its head come off, the asset prepares another shot. It cocks its weapon.

The asset never misses.

 

“Mission report.”

“Target terminated. Kill shot through the forehead. No witnesses. Minimal property damage, one shattered window. Two shots taken.”

“Two?”

“Affirmative. One shot through the window, inaccurate. One shot through the forehead.”

“Inaccurate? You missed?!”

“Affirmative.”

“You never miss.”

“One shot through the window, inaccurate.”

“...Why?”

“The Boy.”

The handler sits forward and looks at the asset, hard. He is no longer taking notes, his pen sits still in his hand as he observes the asset. “What boy?”

“He spoke to me. Bucky. I knew him.”

“You know no one. Only HYDRA. You are shaping the future. You are the Fist of HYDRA.”

“...”

The asset stares at the handler. It looks at the man. His sweaty palms and stinking breath. He smells of cheap cigarettes and piss. The asset hates him.

The asset doesn’t feel anything.

“But I knew him.”

The handler looks disappointed. He sighs heavily through his nose before he stands.

“Wipe him.”

The asset’s eyes widen and a sick cold feeling settles into his stomach. As the guards approach to strap the asset to the Chair, he stands. The guards pull out their stun guns and the handler looks over his shoulder.

“I knew him.” the asset states.

The handler looks at him with disgust.

“You know no one.”

The handler leaves the room and pulls the door firmly closed behind him.

“I knew him. I knew him!” The asset’s voice increases as the guards approach him. One of the guards sticks his stun gun into the asset’s ribs, the voltage turned up high. The shock holds him still long enough for the guards to force him into the Chair. 

“I knew him! I knew him! Steve! Steve!!”, he screams as the guards tighten the straps. He continues screaming until they shove the rubber guard into his mouth. From the corner of his wide eyes, the asset can see the guard reach towards the controls of the Chair.

Bucky screams.  
The guard pushes the button and the Chair hums to life.

 

White.

 

“Ready to comply.”

 

The asset sits in the Chair, waiting to be prepped for its mission. It watches the handlers and people mill around the room. They don’t hold the asset’s attention. It sits in the Chair and waits. It is not impatient. It will wait until it is time for it to be used. The asset is a weapon. 

The weapon does not want.

The asset feels the cold of the room on its skin but it does not shiver. It gives no indication it is even present in the room. The handlers in the room ignore the asset, comparing notes and exchanging information. Guards stand in each corner of the room, stun guns and weapons visible to the asset.

The asset stares ahead, unseeing.

A pair of hands, thin-fingered and delicate slip across his shoulders, followed by bird-boned arms that the asset feels caress the tops of its arms. The arms cross and the small hands clutch at his chest, delicate and begin to rub small smooth circles across his chest. A small and strong chin rests atop the arms on his shoulders. The asset can’t see the boy’s face in full but he can see the crooked nose and the long thick lashes that grace his hooded eyes, partially concealed by the light golden hair, soft and tickling on the asset’s cheek. The boy whispers, his voice deep, quiet and secret.

_“...hello, soldier…”_

The asset slowly turns his head to look into the two way mirror through which the handlers sometimes watch the asset’s training sessions. As he looks into the mirror, the asset sees only himself. As the asset continues staring, he feels the boy nuzzle against the asset’s long hair, blonde mingling with brown, a sigh seeping out of faulty lungs; the asset feels the boy’s soft mouth press against his cheek, gentle.

The asset doesn’t feel.  
The asset is crying.

 

The park is busy. The asset is dressed in civilian clothing, blending in. it observes the children as they run to and fro, catches the gazes of the parents and caretakers scattered throughout the park, standing on the sidelines, gathered in small groups, talking and laughing. The asset’s looming gaze focuses onto one pair as the rest of the park fades, attention caught on where a mother approaches her child, face concealed by her bright hair as she offers snacks to her son from a small plastic bag, the boy’s chubby hand grabbing a fistful of crackers, giggling as his mother lightly teases him. The asset watches as the mother gently touches the tip of her pointer fingers to the boy’s small nose, making him erupt into infectious giggles as she shoulders her bag and picks the boy up, bracing him against her hip as they exit the park. The asset follows.

The asset stalks behind them for a few blocks, trailing behind and carefully observing, watching and slowly getting closer. The asset waits until the crowd has thinned before he grabs the woman by the bicep and quickly tugs her around the corner, away from prying eyes. It places its metal hand across her mouth and can hear her panicked cries of fear. The asset slides a knife into its hand and holds the blade against the woman’s neck. Her tears drip into the leather glove, concealing the brutality of the metal hand underneath, pressing against her mouth. 

“Mama?” a tentative voice asks. The asset and the woman’s attentions turn to the boy clutched in his mother’s arm; he has begun to cry, tears and snot streaming down his splotchy face. The woman lets out a whimper. The asset doesn’t feel.

_“Ma! Ma! Look! This is James Bu-Buchan-nan Barnes.” The boy spoke, struggling_  
_on the longer middle name. The woman, thin with long blonde locks, tied_  
_up in a neat style, looks over her delicate shoulder at her_  
_small son, standing next to another boy with brown hair and_  
_dirt smudged on the knees of his shorts. The boy offers a toothy_  
_grin, a smile that will get him into trouble once he’s older._  
_“Bucky, ma’am; only my ma calls me James, and then only_  
_when I’m in trouble.” She watches as her son tosses a skinny_  
_arm across the boy, Bucky’s, shoulders. “He’s my new best friend!”_  
_Steve declares confidently as only a child can be. The boys giggle at each_  
_Other. The woman laughs at the antics of the kids. The apartment is_  
_warm and bright and the stew is cooking on the stove, and it  
_ _feels like home._

The asset lets go and stumbles away clutching at his head. A keen slips from his throat and he can feel tears slipping from his eyes as he kneels on the ground. He hears the distant sound of the woman running away, but he pays it no mind. His mind is occupied by other things, jumbles and flashes, fragments of places, people that he has never seen playing before his eyes. He sits back on his heels and can feel his back hitting the brick wall behind him as he rocks back and forth.

_The sun is beating down on his skin and the warmth is nice._  
_The penny candy in his mouth is sweet and his fingers are_  
_sticky from the treat. He can feel the sweat beading on his forehead,_  
_but that’s normal, New York summers are always sweltering, the heat is nothing new._  
_As he approaches home, he swears he can already smell whatever it is his_  
_Ma is cooking, he begins to hear yelling up ahead; curiosity strikes him and he speeds up his step, hoping to see what all the commotion is about._  
_As he gets closer, he can see a group of people gathered around_  
_two figures: one older teenage kid and one smaller boy that probably_  
_Wouldn’t even come up to his shoulder. He can hear the voice of the_  
_boy as he yells at the older kid. Joining the group of onlookers, he_  
_can finally hear what the boy is yelling._  
_“I’ll tell ya exactly what ya mama would say! She’d be so_  
_disappointed in ya and she’d smack ya so hard you’d taste it into next_  
_week! What gives ya the right to act the way ya did?! You_  
_Should respect a lady!!”_  
_The boy has to stop here and breathe deeply, gulping air, his_  
_face red and chest heaving. In the meantime, the teen has tried_  
_to walk away , and once the boy has regained his breath he chases_  
_him down, beating his small fists against the teen’s back._  
_The teen turns around a look of disgust on his face, and_  
_pushes the boy down easily with one hand. The boy hits_  
_the ground, hard, but a look of anger still graces his face._  
_The crowd slowly disperses when the argument doesn’t continue._  
_He goes to help the boy up, offering a hand, “hey, you alright?”_  
_“Fine,” the boy declares, taking the hand and brushing himself_  
_off._  
_“My name’s James Buchanan Barnes; friends call me Bucky.”_  
_He sticks out his still sticky hand to shake, the way his father taught him,_  
_all proper-like. The boy takes his hand._  
_“Steven Grant Rogers. Steve.”  
_ _“Nice to meet ya, Steve.”_

The asset doesn’t feel.

Reconditioning. White. Ready to comply. A mission featuring a senator. His son has blonde hair.

Reconditioning. White. Ready to comply. An attack on a hospital. He can’t kill the nurses.

Reconditioning. White. Ready to comply.

Reconditioning. White. Ready to comply.

Ready to comply.  
Ready to comply.  
Ready to comply.  
Ready to comply.  
Ready to-

“You’ve changed the face of a nation. I need you to do it once more.”

A mission on a bridge. He sees the Spiderling, he engages in hand-to-hand combat with a large blonde man, the first time he has met his equal on the battlefield. The man and he grapple, matched, hit for hit, blow for blow. The man pulls the mask from his face. As he turns to face the blonde man, he speaks.

“Bucky?”

Bucky Barnes feels.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it; if you did, please consider leaving a kudo or a comment they make my day and I love seeing them and they help to keep me writing! Thanks!! <3


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